


The Doctor's Ganger

by whovianmuse



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-31
Updated: 2012-08-31
Packaged: 2017-11-13 05:37:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/500078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whovianmuse/pseuds/whovianmuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Sequel:</b> <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/500084">The Secrets They've Kept</a></p>
<p>
  <i>The Doctor presses Amy against the cold, jagged stone of the wall, curling his fingers around her shoulders and grinning madly. Except it isn’t the Doctor, not really.</i>
</p>
<p>Written for a prompt on Eleventy_Kink (LiveJournal)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Doctor's Ganger

            The Doctor presses her against the cold, jagged stone of the wall, curling his fingers around her shoulders and grinning madly. Except it isn’t the Doctor, not really. Amy can tell the seemingly miniscule differences between their touch. The Doctor she’s known for the majority of her life is kind, gentle, protective. As Amy fights with his tightening grasp, the Ganger’s skin fluctuates beneath her touch, refusing to commit to a permanent state of being.

            It’s liquid skin, and it isn’t the least bit comforting. The Ganger’s fingers contort, pushing her further into the wall and scraping her skin against the jagged rock. Amy glares resolutely into his sunken, bloodshot eyes, shaking terribly. The Ganger tilts his head to each side, watching her with wonder and confusion as she struggles against him.

            “Why do you make me feel this way, Amy? It’s not fair,” he breathes. “All this time, I’ve wanted you… _he’s_ wanted you…no, _I’ve_ wanted you. And yet there’s always something in our way. You tempt me, Amelia. You’ve even let me touch you…before…”

            The Ganger trails off, reliving another man’s memories of the feel of Amy’s skin beneath his fingertips, the soft brush of her lips against his.

            “Amelia,” he moans, burying his face into her shoulder and delighting in the scent of her ginger curls. Liquid skin is cold to the touch, and Amy shivers, turning her face from his as he moves closer, fully intending to kiss her without permission. The Doctor frowns and his eyebrows pull together in frustration and sadness at Amy’s rejection. He smashes her shoulders into the wall a bit harder than necessary, forcing her to cry out.

            “Doctor,” she breathes, nearly suffocating under his grip, “you’re hurting me!”

            “Amy,” he says, loosening his grip instantly, “it’s me. You can trust me.”

            “But it’s not,” she manages to choke out, “it’s not you. You’re just a copy.”

            “I’m _not_ ,” he nearly shouts, anger flaring in his chest as he struggles to convince her, “I’m me. _I’m_ the Doctor. _Your_ Doctor. I fell from the sky into your backyard when you were a little girl. You fed me fish custard. I left for five minutes and you waited for me for fourteen years. We traveled the stars…Starship U.K., the Silurian’s City, Vincent Van Gogh, the Angels…I remember it all.” The Doctor revels in his glorious, stolen memories, clutching Amy in his arms and smiling brilliantly, as another flash of memories swims before his mind.

            “And that night you kissed me,” he whispers. “So many times I’ve thought about that kiss. And now I can finally say this without feeling foolish. We don’t have to be secretive anymore, Amelia. It’s just us now.”

            The Ganger holds Amy at arm’s length, his desperate, monstrous eyes piercing hers, and now he’s the one waiting for her. Waiting for Amelia Pond to kiss him again, to make his hearts explode in anticipation. Waiting for her to realize how much she loves him, too. Instead, Amy stares him down like he’s an infection, shaking her head slowly, and his sliver of happiness is swallowed by three little words that rip the beat from his hearts.

            “What about Rory?”

            The Doctor’s smile evaporates, but this time, he’s able to control his temper.

            “What _about_ Rory?” he retorts, forcing a tone of lighthearted disregard.

“He was never really important, was he?” The Doctor asks with a playful chuckle.

            “Besides which, he’s run off with that lovely Jennifer girl. Pity for you, but he’ll be much happier now. And with Rory gone, that leaves it open for us. A brand new start. Amy, please,” he begs, his lips heavy against her throat.

            The Doctor’s Ganger is just as clever as the Doctor himself. The Doctor has lived nearly a millennium, but all of the same guilt-ridden, haunting memories don’t register with this half-formed version. He remembers only what _this_ body has experienced, what _this_ skin has touched. He cares little for the pain that lies beneath his ability of powerful mental manipulation, and all of the damage it has caused in the past. His succession lies in his ability to harness such a skill. It was a little white lie. He knows he’s touched a nerve, planted a seed of doubt in Amelia’s mind. At this, he smiles devilishly. He’ll play the cards right, say all the rights words to comfort her, and she’ll be his. His elation is barely controllable.

            Amy feels the Ganger’s skin shift against hers, materializing, becoming solid. Slowly, he raises his eyes to meet hers, pleading with her, while underneath his seemingly genuine skin, he’s confident that his ruse will work. Amy reaches out to touch his fully-formed face, brushing her fingertips along his cheekbones, the bridge of his nose, his lips, and for a moment, she forgets that it’s the Ganger.

            “You’re so _real_ ,” she whispers. His dark brown eyes flutter closed, delighting in her touch, leaning in to the caress, as Amy slides her fingers into his tawny mess of hair. It frightens her how easy it is to touch this version of the Doctor, how much he feels like hers. But he isn’t, and she knows that she shouldn’t, but she can’t control herself, and she’s touching him, pulling him closer and kissing him desperately. The weight of Rory’s betrayal, of what she thought was such an impossibility, sends her mad with jealousy. Amy pulls the cloned Doctor into her arms, reveling in the taste of his lips against hers as they struggle to tame a triumphant smile.

            The Ganger crushes Amy to his chest in return, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist and sliding his fingers through the curls of her hair, softly moaning her name. Amy struggles at first, unrestrained tears sliding down her face, but she brushes them away and curls deeper into the Ganger. He gives her a splendidly false, concerned frown and whispers, “Amy, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, but I’m here for you. Trust me.”

            Amy chokes back a sob and nods fervently, pulling him closer. The Ganger isn’t her Doctor, but she can pretend, for this one, impossible, stolen moment, that he is. She presses little kisses along his neck, the way she always wished she could, before she fell in love with Rory. The Ganger doesn’t waste time, eagerly unbuttoning his shirt and tossing it carelessly to the floor. He even chuckles nervously as he fumbles with the clasp of her bra, lost in his act of the awkward, genuinely concerned gentleman, even though he knows he’s already won.

            Amy shrugs out of her trousers, sliding her fingertips into the space between his hips and the waistband of his trousers. She lets them fall, pulling him closer, pulling him into her. He’s cold, terribly cold, and uncomfortable. Amy does her best to ignore the sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach that all of this is so very, very wrong. The Ganger lifts her up and Amy wraps her legs around him, inviting him in, burying her face into his chest and wishing terribly that this was Rory in her arms, instead of an imitation of her imaginary best friend.

            He moves against her roughly, awkwardly, moaning her name in a series of strangled, triumphant cries. His thrusts are careless, miscalculated, and animalistic. He’s nothing like the Doctor ought to be, like Amy had imagined he might be, all of her life. Rough, curious hands graze her thighs and slide incautiously through her hair. Impatient lips find her neck and shoulders, smothering them in passionate kisses. The walls of the room blur around her as she loses focus, and the jagged stone digs into the skin of her back as the Ganger moves against her. He’s unstable, inhuman. An anomaly.

            It’s over before she can even process what she’s just done. The Ganger looks up at her slowly, grinning madly, his skin shifting in the light, twisting into an impossible, monstrous shape. Amy stifles a scream, clasping her hands to her mouth as her eyes scan his terrible, distorted face. The Ganger frowns and grips her shoulders tightly as a clamor of footsteps echoes in a distant corridor.

            The Ganger stares daggers at Amy as he collects his clothes and hastily dresses, rushing down the opposite corridor in the blind hope of an escape from the approaching army, and leaves her stranded and alone against the cold, serrated stone wall, clutching her clothes to her chest and silently crying. He hadn’t kissed her forehead, like the Doctor would have done, or hugged her close and called her _magnificent_.He had simply left her behind, like she always knew he would.


End file.
